


Across Time, My Heart to Yours

by lilithiumwords



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, F/M, M/M, Minor Character Death, Reincarnation, Romance, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-08-11 05:52:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7878988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilithiumwords/pseuds/lilithiumwords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Thorin was very young, long before the fall of his grandfather's kingdom and the attack of a dragon, before he fought and raged and wandered for over a century, he loved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Across Time, My Heart to Yours

**Author's Note:**

> Originally based on [this prompt at the Hobbit kink meme](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/2235.html?thread=2330811#t2330811), so long ago.
> 
> This is unfinished -- yet it is one of my favorite works ever, and I want to share what I've written with you. Someday I hope to finish it. Some of my favorite lines that I've ever written for _The Hobbit_ are in this story. It's timeless and beautiful to me, and I hope you enjoy it as well.

When Thorin was very young, long before the fall of his grandfather's kingdom and the attack of a dragon, before he fought and raged and wandered for over a century, he loved.

She was Brenna, a smiling beauty of fair hair and dark eyes that sparkled in the gleaming fires of Erebor's halls. She had a magnificent beard and a long mane of curly hair that she weaved with beads of mithril that Thorin made for her, delicate leaves and flowers carved into the shining metal. Thorin loved to braid her hair in the evenings after his lessons and meetings with his father and grandfather, taking apart each braid carefully and plaiting them again, sometimes with new beads that he had crafted in his spare time.

She was fiesty and beautiful and cheerful to a fault. She could tear Thorin's pride to shreds if he dared rouse her ire, and she was quick to fret and slow to forget. They sometimes had spectacular fights that resulted in even more spectacular embraces of forgiveness. She matched Thorin's stubbornness and could make him feel like he was knee-high with her scolding, but then she would melt into his arms and blush in such embarrassment. She was perfect, and Thorin adored her.

She was unlike most Dwarves in that she cared little for riches or gold, drawn more to academic ventures and philosophy. She devoted herself to the scholar life, studying Khuzdul every day and reading the ancient texts to her heart's desire. She often spoke of learning Elvish and distant Mannish languages, but she so rarely ventured into Dale that Thorin knew it to be little more than sweet fancies. For all her hesitance to visit the city of Men, she could spend hours wandering the fields, forests, and valleys around Erebor, gathering flowers and reciting their names and uses to Thorin. She loved to explore the caves below with him as well, finding tiny gems that she would admire for only moments before shifting the conversation to some book she had read the other day. 

Dwarves only ever loved once, and Thorin knew Brenna to be his other half. From the moment they had met, Thorin had felt a fragile and beautiful _feeling_ form at the back of his mind -- an awareness of her. Questions had gained him the knowledge that this was the beginnings of a bond, and Thorin celebrated in his heart, to know that Brenna was his soul mate. Their bond grew the more time they spent together, and every moment with her was bliss to him.

She fit with him perfectly in every way. He dreamed of the engagement broach he would one day craft for her, of sapphires and gold. When he was twenty and she only seventeen, only children to their families, he carefully made two matching rings and gifted one to her, quietly begging her to promise to be his when they came of age. She called him silly and cried fat tears of happiness, and from then on wherever they went, they carried on their fingers the matching rings of promise.

Thorin had been so happy during those years, those precious years with Brenna at his side. His love for her had known no bounds, and every day he learned something new and wonderful about her. She had loved him without limit, and Thorin had believed that he would be happy forever.

Then came the day when Smaug attacked Erebor. On that day, Brenna died, and the light of Thorin's life blinked out, never to brighten his world again.

Until the day he walked into the Shire and met a Hobbit with dark eyes and thick curls, who frowned at him with the eyes of the woman he had loved so fiercely and lost so long ago.

~

_The day of her death is one he will never forget._

_She is not in Erebor, for once, but in the city of Dale. He promises to go with her, but his father puts him on guard duty for the morning, so she goes alone, smiling to him and saying that it is alright. She says she will only be gone a few hours, just to look for the silk her friend told her about, the vendor is just inside the entrance, her friends will be with her, it will be fine, Thorin._

_So he acquiesces and nods, and watches her walk away for the last time._

_Then the fire drake comes._

_The first moments of Smaug's attack are confusing, rushed, and still they remain burned in his memories. They hear shouts from Dale, and in the back of Thorin's mind, something screams -- someone, someone precious to him, and Thorin nearly falls to the sudden shock of loss. He does not understand what the feeling is, and his thoughts are quickly consumed by what happens next._

_The horns sound -- but they can only see smoke for a few minutes. Then they hear the roar -- and when Thorin runs to the rampart, he sees the edges of wings and knows, with horror, that it is a dragon. He is terrified -- not for himself, but for Brenna, for his family, for his people. He takes up arms and does everything he can to save his people and defend his home -- but always, in the back of his mind, he feels a darkness creeping. It is just after he pulls his grandfather from the treasure room that he realizes exactly what is haunting him._

_He cannot sense Brenna. Their link is gone, and Thorin nearly loses his mind for a moment. She cannot be --_

_No, she must be unconscious. She must be hurt. He must find her._

_But he must save his people --_

_So he does. Those whom he can reach, those whom he can save, he helps them escape the city, and when at last he feels that he can run, too, he flees. Outside, he sees Thranduil on the horizon, and he waves, begs for help -- but Thranduil turns away. Something in his heart burns with wretched anger, but he cannot think about it for long -- he must find Brenna._

_He presses on and runs to the city. Dale is in ruins, the corpses of Men, their wives and children, thrown about like broken toys. The bodies of Dwarves who had gone to market, so many of their precious people, but none of them are the one Thorin hunts for, none of them are Brenna --_

_He finds her on the edge of the city by the western gate. She lays motionless on the ground, a bloodied rock by her head. A bolt of blue silk -- her favorite color, she said it matched his eyes -- is stretched out beneath her, stained a dark color. She must have been running, and if she had been a little faster --_

_The gate is right there. But she never reached it. She died with a hand stretched out. She must have been terrified, he thinks hollowly, slowly lifting her limp body and turning her over in his arms._

_Even in death, she is beautiful._

_Her eyes are wide and empty, soulless, and Thorin feels his own soul seeping away, gone to search for her, though she has already left him. He bows his head and holds her frail body to his chest, imagining her sweet voice screaming, teeming with fear --_

_But he never heard her scream. He was too far away. He was not there when she needed him the most. He did not protect her._

_She is gone._

_Gone, gone, gone to Mahal, gone to the Maker who would hold her as Thorin no longer could, who would love her as Thorin does, always will, but it is a cold love now, a dead love -- she is --_

_Brenna, Brenna, Brenna, Brennabrennabrennabrennabrennacomebacktomeplease_

_But she is gone. Her blood is on his hands. He lifts her and carries her from the wreckage of the city, his eyes cold and empty, because the life in him is gone. Dwarves bury their dead in stone, but the caves of Erebor are lost to them. They burn the dead of this day, and Thorin feels his heart turn to stone as he watches Brenna's body lie in flames, her beautiful curls vanishing, but he hopes that she will be at peace._

_May Mahal be kind to her when she meets him._

~

Years passed. All Thorin knew was rage, desolation, and a brutal hatred for the foes who had destroyed his life.

He fought in a war and earned the name Oakenshield, but it was as hollow to him as the wood on his arm. His brother and grandfather died. His father went missing. His people were homeless, but he took up the mantle left to him and led them nonetheless. He took his people across Middle Earth to the Blue Mountains, hating that they begged their way to safety, but they each did their part to bring another meal to the table. He worked hard, used his many skills where he could, earned his people money and kept them alive. He did not give up.

But he did not forget.

He sheared his beard away, leaving only the braids of Durin's line that his beloved once wove into his hair, giggling about the simplicity of them. Her ring rested on a gold chain on his neck along with his own, her mithril beads woven into his braids. He could not wear the braids of a bonded Dwarf, but he allowed a single braid with a black bead, hidden in his hair, marking him as a mourner of a lost love. The dwarrows who did not know him as a child made polite inquiries, but Thorin never responded, and his people knew too well of his grief. None of them pressed him, and he was grateful.

He found a small measure of happiness in the sons Dís brought into the world, Fíli, and later Kíli. They shared his eyes and they were young, sweet, foolish, brave, so very precious to him. His stone heart cracked a bit to love them, but he accepted it, knew that these were the sons he would never have.

On nights when he did not have work, and his friends and family were occupied, he sat alone and watched the stars. Always he looked east to the home he left behind. Always, in the back of his mind, she stayed, but rarely did he allow himself to indulge in the thought of her.

Some years, he did not think of her but a few times, so busy with life and work, but sometimes it was hard. Some days -- months -- even years -- some were so hard that he could barely bring himself to leave his bed.

The year Dís married. The years Fíli and Kíli were born. The day Kíli said his first word: _nadû_ , because _ama_ was at the guild and _ada_ was out with Fíli. (Those were Fíli's first words, but _nadû_ was his third.)

The same day every year. The day Erebor was taken, when Brenna left him, when his heart turned to stone.

~

_And one autumn day in the year 2890, as he walks home from a long day at the forge. Inexplicably, strangely, with no reason why, nothing that could have caused it -- yet suddenly, something bright and beautiful flashes in his mind, and all he can think about is Brenna. He falls to his knees and wonders at the feeling._

_It is as if she is alive, the broken void at the back of his mind mending and healing, but so delicate, so fragile. He can almost hear her, her laughter, her voice -- but so muted. So frail and tiny, and it cannot possibly be true -- she is **dead**. But he revels in the feeling of her all the same, grabs and holds onto the fleeting sensation desperately._

_It is a long time before he knows anything again. Fíli is shaking his shoulders and shouting into his face, and Thorin realizes that he is crying. It is very late, and Fíli came looking for him when he did not return. His nephew drags him home, and Dís stares at him and Víli frowns and Kíli worries, but Thorin is unable to explain anything to them. They will think him mad. A soul bond, flaring to life again? It is unheard of._

_He does not believe the thought either, when it flutters through his head. It is impossible. So he puts the thought aside and ignores the feeling, explains his fall as stress, and though his family mutters and worries, he pretends that everything is alright._

~

And for a time, it was. Thorin forgot about the tiny bond in the back of his mind, but as the years passed, he felt it grow. It became both a comfort and a source of anxiety to him. It burned in the back of his mind some days, and _he wonders if he is succumbing to one of the sicknesses of his line._

Other thoughts began to burn as well. He dreamt of walking Erebor again, of driving his axe into the gut of a dragon, of all the gold that sat beneath Erebor. The mountains they now lived in were hollow, sparse of any rich materials, hewn away by other Dwarves long ago. They were a very poor people, and though they found trade and work through nearby cities of Men, communities of Elves, and even the shy Hobbits of the Shire, Thorin dreamt of more.

Of gold that would buy every one of his people ten meals every day for a thousand years. Gold that was his, by birth and by right.

And by might, if he had his way.

The plan built itself slowly. When he dared to share it with Dís, she thought him foolish and refused to speak to him for a week. Her husband just shook his head, muttering, but Dwalin, his best friend and partner, thought it a good idea.

Dwalin's cousin Glóin had a brother, Óin, who was old and hard of hearing, but he read the old scrolls and listened to news from Men and Elves. Óin knew of an old legend among the survivors of Erebor that someday they would return. He said that _there are signs, omens, that the time is right._

Thorin asked around quietly, subtly, but most laughed it off. There were some, though, who looked at him with interest -- a trio of brothers, distant cousins of his, Dori, Nori, and Ori, who wanted a better life. A trio of toymakers, Bofur, Bombur, and Bifur, who liked the sound of adventure. 

Glóin, who had a wife and child and had done admirably better financially than all of Thorin's other friends, decided he would fund the venture. Óin decided to join them, to keep his brother out of trouble. Dwalin's brother Balin responded to their letter and said he would guide them.

Then Fíli and Kíli heard of it, and for weeks afterward, they would talk of nothing else. Dís did not speak to Thorin very much during this time.

Some time passed, because it was not quite right yet. He and his friends went their different ways, but always the plan burned in the back of his mind, right next to the soft link to his dead beloved. The link still bothered him, but he ignored the pull of it. He came to believe it would resolve itself if he returned to Erebor. The renewed link and the plan to return to Erebor -- they were tied, and Thorin only had to wait until the time was right.

~

Then one night, while he is traveling through Bree to find work, he meets a Wizard. He is drawn to the old man with the pointy grey hat, and the Wizard agrees to speak with him. Without understanding why, but somehow knowing it is the right thing to do, he spills out his story and desires, and the Wizard, Gandalf the Grey, tells him he knows of him -- tells him he met his father. He then produces an old map of his beloved Erebor, and Thorin knows, deep in his soul, that this is right.

He has plans to go to Ered Luin, to meet with the leaders of all Dwarves and ask for help. When he returns, he will meet with his friends -- his company. They but need a place to meet, somewhere hidden and safe where they can talk. He mentions the superstition of his company, and Gandalf says he knows of a Hobbit that could assist them.

Gandalf promises to find him help. He will leave an old trade mark on the door of one of the homes in the Shire, and all they need to do is find it. There will be food, he promises, and they can buy their supplies in Bree. The road will be simple but long, and at the end of it lies Erebor.

Thorin sends word to his friends and cousins. His meeting in Ered Luin proves useless -- none of the other clans will help, not even his cousins of the Iron Hills. So Thorin returns to the Shire, which vaguely disturbs him, with its gentle hills and simple farms. Gentle, simple people, who have no idea of the darkness that lies beyond their borders. He envies them their peace.

It is late and dark when Thorin reaches the Shire, and he knocks on the wrong door twice. Finally he finds the right door, the small mark glowing faintly, and when he knocks, he feels an odd shiver curl up his back. For a moment, his soul bond pulses, but he dismisses the feeling, knowing it means nothing.

How little does he know.

The door opens, and there stands Gandalf, smiling at him in welcome. When Thorin mentions the mark that helped him in the darkness, he hears a voice scolding Gandalf, complaining of new paint and meddlesome Wizards. The tone of voice resonates with an old memory, but he brushes it aside with ease, looking around the quaint Hobbit hole to see his nephews, friends, and cousins there. It eases his mind to see Fíli and Kíli, and so when he turns to Gandalf again, he is still smiling.

Then Gandalf introduces him to their small host, a Hobbit by the name of Bilbo Baggins, and that is when Thorin's stone heart shatters.

~

_Brenna._

In a rush it all makes sense, and yet it makes no sense at all. His soul bond came back to life -- because _she_ came back to life. But she is a Hobbit, and -- there in her eyes:

She does not recognize him. She does not _know_ him. And he realizes that this is a stranger, for all that he knows her -- him. The face of the Hobbit that stares back at him is not that of a beautiful maiden Dwarf, but of a handsome male Hobbit, soft laugh lines around the mouth and eyes, which meet his shocked gaze hesitantly. But Thorin knows him -- knows that he is _her_.

He reels and falls to his knees. His friends and family shout in the background, but Thorin's attention is completely on the Hobbit in front of him. The Hobbit's face is immediately wrought in worry, and Thorin dimly realizes that he recognizes that worry. Then Bilbo is kneeling down and reaching out to him, to steady him, make sure he is alright -- and then his hand misses and touches Thorin's face.

They both stiffen, the bond flaring bright in Thorin's mind, and in Bilbo's eyes, he can see -- recognition?

Then his vision fades to black.

~

She is trying to reach his hair to tuck a flower into one of his braids, and he leans back to avoid her reach, laughing at her, while she giggles and tries to scold him. He evades her, and she chases, and when she is close enough, he grasps her around her waist and pulls her close, nudging her nose with his. She laughs, bright and clear, and his heart simply cannot contain more joy than in this moment.

They kiss softly. They have kissed a few times before, carefully, gently, but now they are settling into the warmth of it, into the ease of knowing each other simply through their lips. He pulls back to see her dusky eyes half-lidded, a small smile on her face, sweet cheeks rosy with a blush. He gives each a kiss, and she pushes him away, a smile in her voice as she says,

"Thorin!"

He wakes with a gasp. "Brenna?" he calls, voice strangled, and there is a pointed silence that he knows all too well. He must have been dreaming of her again. The ceiling above him is unfamiliar, beams of warm brown wood vaulted up in a curve. He shakes his head and looks to his side, finding Dwalin, though he is staring across the room, and behind him are Fíli and Kíli, watching him worriedly.

The bond in the back of his mind pulses again, and he follows Dwalin's gaze without thinking, to a small Hobbit standing in the doorway, dark eyes fastened to Thorin.

"Brenna," he whispers, and the Hobbit stiffens.

"I don't understand," Bilbo Baggins whispers, and Thorin shakes his head. He does not understand either, but he _wants_ to, and he wants desperately to know Bilbo's thoughts, to know if Bilbo feels him as he can feel Bilbo. He sits up with Fíli's help and holds out his hand, and slowly, hesitantly, Bilbo walks into the room and reaches out to him.

When their hands touch, the bond bursts with light again, leaving them both reeling, but it is a short sensation, and slowly they both straighten. Joy, shock, elation, wariness, wonder, worry -- all warring in his heart as Thorin stares at Bilbo, struck with the realization that _his soulmate has come back to life_.

Bilbo sits down carefully on the edge of the sofa, and Thorin aches to see him so wary. Yet he too feels cautious and anxious, as this is not the face of his beloved, this is a male Hobbit, someone he does not know -- _but this is Brenna_. He knows this as well as he knows his own name.

Dwalin is muttering, and his nephews are staring in shock. Balin enters through one of the doorways, and though he senses Bilbo tense, the presences of his family eases Thorin's mind a bit. He does not move his gaze from Bilbo, though, and Bilbo does not look away from him, either.

Balin comes to stand before them, his expression serious and dark. "Thorin, what is going on?" he asks, and Thorin glances very briefly at him.

"You will think me mad," he begins, and Dwalin snorts beside him. "I do not know... how, but this Hobbit is..." He pauses, watching Bilbo, and soon enough Bilbo gives a tiny nod, so Thorin continues, his voice growing stronger. "I have a bond with this Hobbit," he says, hearing gasps and keeping his eyes on Bilbo. "I do not know how, nor do I understand why. Yet it is true -- I have felt this bond for over fifty years, and only now has it been completed. This Hobbit... is my One. He is Brenna. I know it as I know my own axe."

He looks up and glares stubbornly at his friends, who all stand very still, their eyes wide and with growing shades of emotion -- pity, distrust, wariness, anxiety. Beside him, Bilbo shifts uneasily.

"Thorin," Dwalin begins, his voice low, but Thorin scowls.

"Fifty-one years ago, I felt Brenna's bond in my mind again. You remember that night -- I fell while I was coming home. Fíli had to find me. I did not tell you then, because I did not understand it, but now I know --"

"Fifty-one?" Bilbo murmurs in shock, and Thorin immediately calms himself, his voice dropping away as he looks over at the Hobbit. "That's how old I am," Bilbo continues weakly, and Thorin hesitates at the thought of how young his mate is. But Bilbo is a Hobbit -- what does that mean for his lifespan, if his soul is that of a Dwarf's?

Thorin shakes himself of thoughts he cannot hope to understand yet and focuses on Bilbo. With a start he realizes that Bilbo is staring back at him, with Brenna's eyes -- deep and dark, just as he remembers from his youth. His chest tightens with untold emotion, just as some ache in the back of his mind eases. However strange it is to see a Hobbit where his Brenna stands, Thorin cannot deny what he knows, what he _feels_ \-- that he is staring at his One match.

He can feel his mien relaxing with the gentle flutter in the back of his mind, and he knows it draws sharp attention -- but he is captured by the look on Bilbo's face, of wonder and fascination. Not disgust, nor fear, nor distrust -- just worry for this new, unknown feeling that must be crashing through him, of a bond that he had hardly known could exist. Thorin wishes to smooth the crease in his brow, feels his hand move as he thinks it, and Bilbo must have read his intention -- or felt it? He senses embarrassment in the back of his mind, and it is not _his_ \-- and Thorin drops his hand because he sees Bilbo visibly hesitate, small Hobbit hand tightening over Thorin's fingers.

They might stare at each other all night, but Balin clears his throat to distract them.

"Thorin, you must admit that this is..."

"Impossible," Dwalin growls, but Balin quickly jabs him with an elbow.

"Improbable, perhaps, and most definitely unusual. Are you certain -- completely certain? While it is not unprecedented for something of this nature to occur, it is... odd," Balin says, glancing at Bilbo, "that a Hobbit should be... involved in such a situation."

Thorin glares at Balin when he feels Bilbo tense beside him. "Do you doubt my ability to know my mind? I know mine, and I know hers. His, now. Whatever oddness you may perceive, it is truth I speak, and I am -- grateful," he forces out, feeling Bilbo's wide gaze on him and knowing that Dwalin and Balin can hear his hesitance to such an admission. He looks away from his friends to Bilbo -- Brenna, he thinks sadly -- whose eyes are wide and dark and sad, and his chest aches. He closes his hand until the trembling in Bilbo's small fingers stops.

"This is a gift. A kindness to the line of Durin that has suffered so, from the Father who Made us, or from the Mother who Grew the earth -- I do not know. Whatever has brought Brenna to me, I am grateful, and you may think that my mind is finally broken, but no. My mind is whole, more now than it has since Erebor."

At the last word Thorin utters, Bilbo sits up straight, as if a shock went up his spine. Thorin stares at him, and Bilbo looks away finally, fingers twitching in Thorin's grip. "Erebor," the Hobbit murmurs, and beyond the crowd of Dwarves that has gathered stare at them, Gandalf clears his throat.

"I'm afraid I haven't the slightest idea what any of you are talking about. Thorin, are you quite alright?"

Bilbo stiffens beside him, pulling his hand from Thorin's grip as if realizing how many people are gathering into the room, and Thorin turns to glare at the Wizard. "I'm fine," he growls, and he looks away to see Bilbo's hands fluttering on his lap, the small Hobbit stiff with discomfort. He reaches out again to take Bilbo's hand, but the Hobbit evades him and stands, smoothing down his vest. Something in Thorin throbs, but he ignores it. His One is stressed, confused, shocked -- it is no surprise that Bilbo is wary of him.

"Can someone please explain what is going on to me?" Bilbo says, his voice wavering. "Why have Dwarves come into my home like this, and why -- ah," the Hobbit hesitates, looking down at Thorin. "Why do you make me feel this way?" he whispers after a moment, and Thorin's jaw clenches.

He must be patient.

"A fine question, Bilbo! I can answer at least part of that, and perhaps Thorin could explain the other part to the rest of us," Gandalf hedges, grating on Thorin's nerves. "To say the least --"

"The latter is a matter of privacy, and I would speak to Mister Baggins alone about it. As for why we are here, do you mean to tell me that you did not explain that to Mister Baggins already?" Thorin asks, his tone darkening as he catches a hint of guilt in Gandalf's expression. He notices Balin and Dwalin exchanging glances.

"As it happens --"

"No," Bilbo interrupts, crossing his arms and frowning in a way that draws Thorin's gaze to his mouth. "He did not explain anything. Can you?" the Hobbit asks, turning and looking into Thorin's face, and Thorin inhales at the look in his eyes -- so familiar, so easy to fall into.

"It would be my pleasure," Thorin murmurs, and he watches heat rise to Bilbo's cheeks.

"Now, perhaps we should all engage in this discussion," Gandalf starts again, but once more he is interrupted, by Balin and Dwalin clearing their throats.

"We should leave Thorin to it," Dwalin says, pushing at Fíli and Kíli, who have strangely said nothing about the situation. They do object, loudly, until Dwalin silences them with a glare. Balin joins him, smiling amiably at Gandalf, who looks perturbed.

"It seems that Mister Baggins and Thorin have some things to discuss alone. Shall we check on the lads, make sure everything is tidied up?" Balin says to Gandalf, and between him and Dwalin, they manage to bully everyone out of the room, their voices dimming against the silence that they leave behind.

Bilbo stands in the middle of the room, staring at the hallway, and Thorin stays seated, staring at Bilbo. Then Bilbo turns and straightens his braces, nodding once.

"Why don't we talk in my study? Away from... everyone," Bilbo manages to say, but Thorin hears the quiver in his throat and wants to soothe those nerves. At the same time, he is unnerved by his own acquiescence of the situation. Why is it so easy to believe that this Hobbit is Brenna? Bilbo should be nobody to him, but he feels the same as he did as a lad.

But he is old now, and this is not his intended. They are all but strangers. Yet he _feels it_ , and he knows Bilbo must feel it too.

"Lead the way."

~

_The first time Thorin dreams of his One, he is fourteen and no taller than his father's waist and barely out of following his mother around court. He is proud and arrogant and small, and he falls asleep in his bed and wakes up crying because he saw dark eyes and a bright smile and **wanted**. He tells his parents and they smile with such joy, that he had his first Dream, but he rages at them like the child he is. He **wants her** and for days he does nothing but try to sleep, to dream of her again, until he makes himself sick and ends up with a fever._

_Four months later, he meets her. He feels something burst into life in the back of his mind the moment their eyes meet, and he does not hear his mother calling his name as he walks toward her, reaching out with shaking hands. She mirrors him, ignoring her parents and older brother who call her name -- **Brenna** , it rings in his mind with rightness -- and when their hands meet, they both start crying. Their parents are frantic, but Thorin and Brenna stand together in the middle of the courtyard, holding hands and crying and **knowing** that letting go after this is impossible._

_He has not let go of her since the first time he touched her._

~

Bilbo invites Thorin to sit at the desk, taking a chair that has been pushed up against the wall, clasping his hands in his lap and watching Thorin hesitantly. Those small hands flutter, and then Bilbo stands again, twisting his fingers over his wrists with nerves.

"I've been a terrible host, you just arrived and I haven't made you any tea or supper, though I can't say there is much left, but at least -- oh, and you _blacked out_ , are you sure you're fine? Maybe you should rest --"

"Please, I am fine. I wish only to talk, and to explain... and to help us both understand."

Bilbo hesitates at the door, and Thorin watches him, imploring, and he feels that nervous flutter in the back of his head calm slightly. He holds out his hand, and after a moment Bilbo crosses the room again, pulling the chair over and sitting beside Thorin at the desk, carefully taking his hand again. They both stop for a moment when the bond flares, and Thorin sighs, starting slightly as Bilbo matches his movement.

"Can you feel it?" Thorin asks quietly, watching Bilbo's face closely. He admires the upturned nose and crow's feet, the laugh lines and the bow-shaped lips. Those dark eyes pierce him, and he swallows. He focuses his thoughts on the bond in the back of his mind, as he once did when he was a lad and wanted to share his thoughts with Brenna. He thinks of his surety that Bilbo is Brenna, of his relief and joy at meeting him, of his worry at this strange situation, of his anger and loneliness and distrust -- and Thorin has to stop himself, lest he overwhelm both of them, when Bilbo reels.

"Yes," Bilbo whispers, and Thorin closes his eyes briefly. It warms him, to hear Bilbo acknowledge the bond.

"It is a bond. Our bond, to be sure," Thorin says, and he hesitates on what he is about to say, as this is a Hobbit and no Dwarf... but Bilbo is also Brenna, in some way, and to understand the bond, he must know this. First, though... "What do you feel right now?"

Bilbo has his eyes closed, and his fingers are loose and relaxed in Thorin's grip. "I feel like I know you. Like I should know your face, but I've never seen it before tonight. I feel... emotions? Something burning in my mind? I don't _understand_ ," he says, opening his eyes and staring at Thorin. "How in the world could this happen? You are a Dwarf, and I am a Hobbit, and yet -- yet I _know you_. But I have never seen you before!"

Thorin reacts without thinking further. He reaches up to cup Bilbo's face between his hands, smoothing his thumbs against those soft laugh lines, leaning in to rest his forehead against Bilbo's brow. "Know this, and know it well. I do not know how it is possible, but I know you as you know me, even though we are strangers." He feels Bilbo exhale shakily, warm breath hitting his chin, and he shivers. How long has he been without this comfort? How long has he existed without this intimacy, this gentle warmth? How long has he been lonely, waiting?

Bilbo reaches up to hold his wrists, staying where he is for a long moment before drawing away, dark eyes fixing on Thorin's face as he lowers their hands. He does not let go, and Thorin does not move his hands away. The warmth of his One's fingers are a balm to the shattered pieces of his heart. "Explain it to me," Bilbo pleads quietly.

Thorin obeys.

"I was born in a mountain far to the East. We call it Erebor, the Lonely Mountain. It was the mightiest of Dwarven cities, prosperous and beautiful. My grandfather was king, and life was good, for a time. I did not see the darkness that grew in my homeland, though, in the shadow of my grandfather's greed. He hoarded gold and treasure like no other Dwarf ever has, and while our wealth grew, we did not know what horrors would come of our desire for gold."

"Erebor," Bilbo murmurs, and Thorin watches his dark eyes gleam with untold emotion. He feels that emotion in the back of his mind -- confusion -- and rubs his thumbs over the insides of Bilbo's wrists. It feels strange, touching someone again like this, but Bilbo's skin feels right under his hands. He can feel the Hobbit's heartbeat, quick and fast like a rabbit's nerves.

"Yes. All the might and power of the Dwarves lay in its halls... but no more. It is lost to us. The gold my grandfather gathered drew the attention of the Dragon Smaug, and the beast attacked us and the city of Dale. All was lost that day. Even..."

"Even me," Bilbo whispers, and Thorin's voice fails him. He stares at the Hobbit with wide eyes, and Bilbo looks up at him, his chin trembling faintly. "I've had dreams. Of a Dwarvish city, and another city of Men. There was -- fire. A roar like nothing heard before. Blue..."

"Blue silk," Thorin finishes, hushed, and he feels more than sees a shiver go through Bilbo's entire body. Something burns in his mind, to think that all this time, Brenna -- _Bilbo_ \-- has suffered nightmares of her final moments. Was the world truly so cruel?

"Brenna --"

Bilbo lifts his head with a gasp, pupils blown with shock. "No, don't call me that -- I'm not -- I'm not her. That was a _dream_. Whatever this is, please -- call me Bilbo. It is all very strange and you may -- you may look at me and see someone else, but I am _me_ and that is all I have. Oh, bother," he mutters, and Thorin watches, struck, as a blush sweeps over those fair cheeks before Bilbo bows his head.

It leaves him cold. What is he doing, convincing himself that this Hobbit is his One? He must be losing his mind. Doubt and fury creep deeper into his thoughts, until Bilbo lifts his head again in alarm, his eyes widening as he looks at Thorin.

"Why -- why are you angry? I'm sorry, I shouldn't have --"

"Do not apologize," Thorin says roughly, pulling away from Bilbo, and a troubling noise escapes his throat the moment their skin is no longer in contact. Yet the confusion and growing fear in the back of his mind dim to a lull, and he is able to think clearly again.

They sit together in silence, and it calms them both, until Thorin's anger bleeds away and Bilbo's hands no longer tremble in his lap. Thorin takes the time to look at Bilbo, really look at him, and he sees someone that, an hour ago, he would have thought a fool. Tidy clothing of good make, soft belly full from an easy life, in a home that is the forethought of wealth and leisure.

_Yet this Hobbit is more than what he seems._

Finally Thorin gathers his courage and speaks again, his eyes staying on his hands. "What happened that day drove my people from their homes. We wandered for years until we came to the Blue Mountains. All these years we have lived in desolation, in poverty and sickness, while that dragon slumbers in our sacred halls. That is why my company and I have gathered here tonight. We are on a quest to reclaim our homeland."

There is a long beat of silence, and Thorin dares to look up. The look on Bilbo's face is of dread, and it strikes Thorin's heart. Suddenly he remembers why they are in this Hobbit's home, why he met Bilbo in the first place. Bilbo's part in the quest -- and Brenna's part in their history. _His_ history. Suddenly, he cannot do this anymore -- cannot say another word to the person who carries the soul of his One, because _no_ , no matter what, he cannot allow Bilbo Baggins to accompany them on this journey.

Thorin stands abruptly and is halfway across the room before he realizes what he is doing, and then there is a small hand grabbing his arm, and he rounds to see Bilbo staring at him with a familiar temper.

"Don't you dare walk out that door," Bilbo seethes. "Don't you _dare_ \-- not after you promised to tell me everything! I can -- I know you are thinking of walking away, of leaving me here, and if -- if what we feel is true, then that place, Erebor, is the source of all this. I want to understand why I feel you in my mind! Why I _know_ that it is you that I feel! You are going to Erebor, right? And I suspect that Gandalf volunteered me for some inauspicious part of your journey, far more than simply hosting your company for a night or two. Am I wrong?" he demands, and Thorin stares at him in shock. Bilbo's eyes narrow, and Thorin feels a familiar rush to respond to him, to ease the thunder gathering between that gentle brow.

"You are correct, yes," Thorin says quickly, and he watches, stunned, as just as Brenna did long ago, Bilbo relaxes, his face smoothing as the scowl disappears far too quickly for Thorin to understand.

"There, was that so hard? Now, let us sit down and continue, and you will tell me exactly what this quest of yours entails. I want to know everything before I make a decision," Bilbo tells him, small mouth quirking with determination, and Thorin cannot resist him.

He allows Bilbo to pull him back to the desk, sitting down in much the same position, and the details of his quest spill from his mouth like wine from a flask. Bilbo soaks in the information, all the while asking small questions, but never giving his opinion, while Thorin flounders to keep his ground. Thorin notices the trembling in the small Hobbit's hands, notices the flinches when he mentions Smaug and the original plan they made for Bilbo, but he hastens to assure the Hobbit.

"Though we had planned for the help of a burglar, we would not send you alone into that dangerous place. I would not allow it, not after... not knowing what I know now." He falters, and Bilbo eyes him with far more knowledge and understanding than Thorin is comfortable acknowledging. His face is pale, though, and Thorin aches to take the knowledge away, to give the oblivion of never knowing that he belongs with Thorin. It is too dangerous. He cannot risk losing her _again_.

Bilbo must read something in his mien, for his lips twist with a hint of his earlier scowl. "Gandalf told you that I was a burglar. That Wizard..." He mutters for a moment, and Thorin is charmed by his dark eyes and frowning tone. It reminds him of Brenna -- and at the same time, this Hobbit is unlike Brenna in many ways. Thorin does not know what to make of it.

"You need not accompany us. Your life will remain undisturbed. We can find another burglar. You can... you can pretend that we have never spoken. I will not make you go with us. It is too dangerous for one such at yourself. You do not know me."

But he is cut off, as a scowl erupts on Bilbo's fine features again.

"And where does that leave me? You have come into my home and uprooted everything I thought I ever knew -- Dwarves! With quests, and poor manners, and knowledge that I do not understand -- and you have the answers to questions I have held all my life, and _now_ you wish to ignore me and make me pretend that I never felt any of this? _No_ , if you, if you are going to come in here and look at me with those eyes, and then _tell me_ that I should forget you? I've been dreaming of you since I was a boy! I thought I was insane, dreaming of a Dwarf when I had never met one, and here you are, and you want -- you want me to -- ooh, you horrible, stubborn Dwarf!" Bilbo fumes, throwing his hands in the air and jumping up to pace across the room.

Thorin stares after him, chilled and shocked as Bilbo's frustration simmers in the back of his mind. For he had seen this temper before -- had heard those words before, long ago uttered by another person who matched his stubborn pride with determined emotion that would always, _always_ move him, as no other force could.

He is an old Dwarf, and he has not touched anyone other than friends and family since he was young and in love. He knows little of emotions or love, but for the love that he lost, and yet his heart is kindled again. A fire burns within him, ignited by eyes dark and bright, by a face that is nothing like what he has dreamed about, but which he knows by sight alone. He knows nothing of romance. He lost that knowledge long ago, but something guides Thorin to stand, to cross the room and grasp Bilbo's thin shoulders and turn him around gently.

 _I should not,_ Thorin thinks, staring down at the frown that twists on a face he should not know.

But he leans down anyway, soothing that frown away with his mouth, soft and too gentle, scared that he will scare Bilbo away forever. Bilbo's shoulders quiver beneath his hands, but otherwise his One is completely still. Thorin feels Bilbo's shock in the back of his mind, and he is about to draw away -- when small hands reach up to grab his tunic, and he is tugged in further.

Then they are kissing, and the fire that burned his heart away rages across their minds, searing them together. Thorin cannot help gasping as Bilbo makes a noise against him. Whatever doubts that lingered in his mind are gone. Bilbo is his One.

And he can never let him go.

They withdraw slowly, holding onto each other still, breathing in each other's warmth. Bilbo's face is turned up toward Thorin, and he lets his gaze roam over those soft Hobbit features, so different from a Dwarf's stern brow and bearded chin. Bilbo's dark eyes, so familiar to him though he has not seen them for over a hundred years, open to watch him, and Thorin lets their foreheads rest against one another.

"That should not have worked as well as it did," Bilbo says, a bit breathless, and the fire within Thorin burns a little hotter.

"I should not have --"

"Don't you dare apologize," Bilbo says, glaring at him, and Thorin shuts his mouth abruptly. How can this Hobbit already read him so easily? It disturbs him, but it warms him at the same time.

Then his attention is drawn to the door when he hears a soft knock, and the noise inspires a truly grand blush on Bilbo's cheeks. They separate, and Bilbo fusses with his clothes as if they might be askew, while Thorin tries to summon his old stony expression. Then he goes to answer.

Balin is standing at the door, a perturbed look on his face, but it disappears as he tries to look past Thorin at Bilbo. "Pardon my interruption, but Gandalf has become rather impatient waiting for you."

Thorin thinks of a few choice words for Gandalf, but decides not to share them when Balin fixes a dark look on him. He has many explanations to give, and only a few he wishes to share with the old Wizard, who should not be shoving his overly large nose into Thorin's business. Bilbo shuffles to his side, and at the small touch of his fingers on his arm, Thorin inexplicably relaxes.

"As much as I consider Gandalf my friend, I daresay he would be a little too nosy about this situation. What should we tell him?" Bilbo asks, pragmatic as Brenna always was, and Thorin is further warmed. Balin is paying far too much attention to them both, but Thorin will suffer every curious stare gladly, if it means keeping Brenna -- Bilbo -- at his side.


End file.
